This time of year is supposed to be filled with joy, lights and everything merry; but, I’ve had the hardest time getting there.

I realized this past weekend that a tree just isn’t happening. I’ve fought myself over the stronghold that traditions can have this time of year and the need to justify the time it will take. Call me The Grinch, but I couldn’t justify a week and a half of lights and grandeur in relation to the half-day/day it would take for me to put up everything.

This will be the first time I’ve not put up one, and I feel guilty about it. I know me, and my brain will forever archive 2019 as the year I didn’t put up a Christmas tree. 

But, I let the expectation on myself go and it was like relief walked straight through the door.

Because… it’s a tree.

Instead, I compromised with a single box of decorations and twinkly lights on the mantle. Gifts in Amazon boxes and mailing envelopes will sit on the hearth of my fireplace until they are wrapped the day before they are unwrapped, and that. is. okay. 

It has to be. 

I realize I just wrote four+ paragraphs about not putting up a Christmas tree, but that’s probably because it’s a metaphor for everything else lately. 

Anyone else feel overwhelmed daily with all of the things to do and not enough time to do them? (I hope some of you are raising your hands. Misery loves company, after all.

Reigning in the expectations I’ve seemingly placed on myself has always been an issue at some level or another. But man, I feel rushed all the time lately and – mostly – I feel like a disheveled mess hopping from one stop on my to-do list to the next. 

Then! Bonus round. I feel guilty for it. BECAUSE WE ARE NOT HUMAN AND NO ONE IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON BEHIND THE CURTAIN. 

Right? No? Meh. 

I’ve written this post out several times, and erased every word just as quickly. The expectation that the world isn’t supposed to know I don’t have my shit together is a force to be reckoned with. 

As much as I like to think I don’t care what others think… I do. We all do. It’s why we (I) seek gratification from likes. It’s why we (I) post the best photo of the 173 that were taken.

But, really? 

IT’S OKAY IF I DON’T HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER.

IT’S OKAY IF YOU DON’T, EITHER.

If anything, I feel like surviving October through December is a feat in itself and deserves an award. Make it to December 31st? There better be a dang medal waiting for me as I slide on home the morning of the 1st. 

Who am I kidding? Please don’t make a big deal. Just reward me with an uninterrupted nap. 

Regardless of all of the inward feelings about all of the outward and overwhelming things, I’m grateful to be this far along in the game to know how to retreat, recharge and wrangle those feelings so that they aren’t debilitating.

And! I think (at least as far as I can remember) this is the first season of crazy-busy-I-just-want-a-nap feelings where I haven’t pushed myself to an epic toddler meltdown complete with snot-crying.

It only took 33 years, but whatever. 

Also, it’s still early and we’ve got 11 days left to go.

Honest? All of the words before this were written because I need to remind myself of these things.

Each day, I have to tell myself that it will all be okay if I don’t check off the 12,483 things that are on my to-do list. It’s okay if I show up late somewhere because I’ve been to five other places before (and I’m really just trying to fit it all in). And it’s okay if this year isn’t the happiest, most joyful time of the year as it typically is. 

It’s okay for you, too.

We’re human.
HUMAN.

We have feelings. And what I have found to be most important in getting through the tornado that each day presents is doing the necessary things that help preserve sanity. Turning off the noise, leaning in and being honest with myself have helped the most. 

Turn off the noise.

Turning off the noise for even just five minutes in the dark of my car at the end of the day has made the difference. It’s just five minutes, but it’s mine; it’s quiet and I’m in a space where no one needs me. 

The charm batteries are often blinking-red-depleted and those few minutes are gold.

Lean in.

I’ve really tried to lean into the reality of what the day will be. Lately, I’ve literally had to say to myself: “There is only one of me. I can only do what I can do. I am enough.”  It sounds silly, but hell – if I’m not saying it… no one else will. 

Leaning into what I know about myself – the need for quiet, safe spaces to recharge; the need to be physically active for at least an hour every day; and the need to keep moving one hour at a time – keeps me going.

Be real. 

I think about where my mom was at my age, and I’m typically floored. At 33, she was married, raising two daughters and keeping everything afloat that comes with that. We were both strong-willed children before that was a Google-ble term, so I imagine she was often frazzled. 

In stark contrast, I feel like I live in the realm of imposter syndrome. I forgot to give Milo his flea + heartguard medication last week, I make two to three trips out of the house each morning before I have everything I need and I chronically live out of the dryer.

The point is that everyone is different. Nothing is the “right way” and if we get caught up in the expectations of who we’re “supposed” to be – it’s a losing battle. 

Tapering the unrealistic expectations of life.

As each year turns another page, I’ve learned that different stages of life will present holidays that might be the most joyous of occasions. But sometimes, they also might be lackluster. It will always vary. 

But the excess of everything? The unrealistic expectations that are bolstered by social media and all of the dang filters? That doesn’t have to be a factor. 

Stripping everything down to what is important – friends, family, faith and the environment where you thrive – that’s the sweet spot. 

In the last days of 2019, I’m learning where mine is. My Christmas wish for you – is that if you’re in the same space – you’ll find your spot, too. 

Here’s to a less frantic and grounded Merry Christmas.

Oh, Milo. 

I have struggled to write Milo’s story and “introduce” him in the scope of this blog. Mostly because I feel like in order to tell his story, I have to revisit and acknowledge that Stella is gone. 

That’s still really hard. 

We’re right at a year for when everything began to unravel with her health and I still find myself failing to hold it together at the most random of times. I also question and doubt myself about that time, often wishing I had spent more time on the couch with her or taking her on walks that she loved and hated with the same amount of passion. 

I know that there’s no amount of time that would have been the right amount of time to process letting her go – but it doesn’t make it easier.

That stubborn, 65-pounds of fluff made her mark on my world in a way I never expected, and I’ll forever be a better person because of it. 

Those fresh feelings and open wounds of loss made me very doubtful for bringing another dog into my life… at least during any time frame that could constitute as too soon. Getting used to four less legs tapping along my hardwood floors wasn’t easy and I’m not sure I really completed that phase of grief. Regardless, I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the whole “get a dog” thing all over again. 

Getting another dog meant all of the fun that comes with a puppy, but also all of the heartache for if something went wrong down the road.

The fact that it has taken me almost 8 months to write about it is probably a metaphor for how hesitant I was.  

But on a random day in April, I was scrolling through Facebook when this very large, floppy-eared puppy was posted on a local vet’s page. I’m honestly not sure what it was… but I knew. 

That sounds cliche, but it’s true. I also knew that it wouldn’t be long before he was scooped up by someone else.

I sent his photo and the post to Matt with “I want him. He’s meant to be mine.” And before I knew it, messages were swapped and Matt went by the vet to get the paperwork started. 

Within two days, this very timid puppy was brought to my house. He sniffed around for a bit and then immediately crawled in my lap like he belonged there. His foster home said that he had been the most timid of the litter and hadn’t connected with too many. But somehow, he knew I was his. 

He crashed on the couch between myself and Matt his first night at the house and went FAST to sleep. It was the sweetest darn thing, but y’all… it was the defining calm before the storm. 

And by storm, I mean Milo came in like a friggin’ wrecking ball. 

Wild Wild Milo

I have not been shy about how Milo has been his own version of a holy terror. He has not been a low-maintenance puppy. 

His momma was 100% Siberian Husky, and while we’re not totally sure what dad was – he definitely has the genes of both Australian and German Shepherds.

He looks like no other dog I’ve ever seen and his energy levels are over the top – always.

Because what do you get with the possibility of three working breeds wound up in the most awkwardly shaped body?

Milo. You get Milo. 

I’ll pause here to say that Stella spoiled me. She was THE VERY BEST PUPPY. 

Because she was fostered for a lengthy amount of time, she came to me potty trained. She was six months old when I transitioned her from the crate to free roam the house throughout the day.

I was worried I wouldn’t get that lucky again.

Aaaaand, I was right. 

Milo peed on anything and everything – EVERYTHING – for the first three months I had him.

He destroys every toy he is given. He loves one toy the most – but has ripped (literally) through three of them.

And while he does sleep all night and is very lazy in the morning, he is ready. to. go. at night. 

It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t mind us. We’re just surviving instead of thriving. 

For example: As I’m writing this from the couch – snuggled under a blanket ready to call it a night – the little terror just ripped through my living room from being outside – in the rain – drenched with muddy paws.

He jumped all over the couch. And, when I used all the dang words to imply “GET THE **** OFF MY COUCH AND CALM DOWN,” it only ramped him up even more. 

He thought it was a fun game of chase… all while leaving muddy paw marks all over everything. 

It’s at this point where I picked up the phone and told Matt to come get his dog. This isn’t the first time these words have been sent to him.

It’s not all bad.

I’m not exaggerating when I say I have said more curse words and thought twice about bringing him home several times over. But, it’s really not THAT bad (maybe – most days at least).

He has slowly morphed into the sweetest (when he wants to be) and gentlest of giants. 

He loves super big and makes me laugh when I don’t even realize I need to. 

Daily, he’s growing into his own personality – strong willed – but his own, nonetheless. And, when I’m not looking… he does what I need him to. 

He’s finally housebroken (mostly – thankfully). 

He lets me know when he wants something, or really when he disagrees. He’s very vocal – and “No!” seems to be his trigger word.

He sits, shakes, gives high fives and rolls over.

He goes straight to his kennel (most days) when it’s time for me to go to work. 

And! He’s really, really good with other people.

He’s not a fan of “No” and “Off” just yet, but I have high hopes that we’ll get there… maybe… eventually. 

At 9 months old, he’s tipped the scale of 50lbs and his head finally grew into his ears. His body is trying really hard to catch up to his head, but we’ve still got some time on that one. 

Apparently, he’s no where near being done on the growth scale.

[send help]

Grief is weird, but joy is not.

Losing Stella is still one of the hardest things I’ve had to do as an adult. Processing those emotions wasn’t easy (still isn’t).

Opening my heart and home to another dog somehow felt traitorous. Like I was erasing her memory somehow.

Honest? It took me awhile to realize that nothing could do that. 

It also took me a minute to know I could still lean into being sad about Stella when it happens from time to time, but still laugh at something Milo did. One didn’t cancel out the other or have to exist a part from each other.

Because even beyond the grave, Stella is teaching me all the things.

If anything, I’m beginning to believe that Milo was a part of Stella’s masterplan to pay me back for every walk I made her go on or for every time I woke her up from her slumber. 

This whole thing has definitely been its own adjustment and has come with a steep learning curve, but the joy he has provided is new (and welcomed).

I’m grateful.

Despite the lessons learned and ALL OF THE FEELINGS, I am 110% convinced that there are few things that compare to the feeling of coming home after a long day to a dog who doesn’t care about anything more than ear scratches, belly rubs and a stroll around the neighborhood.

Lucky for me, Milo loves all three. And with the path of persistence we’re currently traveling, I’m sure he will be a part of life lessons (especially in the patience category) for years to come.

I turned 33 this week.

It’s not 30 or 35, and it’s certainly not 21 or 25, but I’m here for it.

The reality of this age is that I feel like another gray hair pops up each week, and the best version of a good time is getting to drink my coffee hot without being rushed to get out the door or a mid-afternoon nap on a Sunday. 

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I sound 50.

I tell people to get off my lawn from time to time, too. Just kidding. I mean, I have barreled out my front door at 2 a.m. to correct the college student neighbors of mine for playing music too loud. But whatever, I digress.

Mom recently asked me what I wanted for my birthday. We typically have the same conversation each year :

“No need to get me anything.”

“Feel free to get me what you want me to have.”

But, this year… I may have asked for indestructible toys for Milo (who still needs his own post soon) or gift cards for groceries and things I hate buying (like toilet paper). 

I may not be a broke college student anymore, but if I have learned anything by 33 – it’s how to be practical. 

Aside from the getting older thing, I typically spend the week of my birthday reflecting on where I’ve been and trying to decide where I’m going. 

I can’t say I’m exactly where I thought I would be when I was 25; but, I can say that the beginning of my 30s has been full of life lessons that continue to shape who I am.

At 30, I experienced a lot of hurt feelings and betrayal. But, I also learned what it means to have a circle of people who are loyal and who care – and how to pick myself up when I fall. 

I spent 31 learning more about how to be a better me. I made mistakes. I laughed a lot. I made some more mistakes. And more importantly, I learned the value of standing still and leaning into the moment. 

And while 32 wasn’t easy, it did give me perspective. 

• Losing Stella taught me that the heartbreak I felt at 30 was nothing in comparison to the connection, love and loyalty that I lost in December. 

• Thirty-two taught me that change isn’t always terrible and that you don’t lose someone just because they move six hours away.

• It taught me how to create systems to handle what I can control and that it’s okay to not have everything planned and put together all the time. 

Finally, 32 also taught me it was okay to trust again and to love big — that some risks are worth it. 

Now at the door of 33, I find myself longing for more quality time with the people I love most – simply slowing down long enough to enjoy life. And! I wouldn’t have the slightest care in the world if that meant more cups of coffee (or bourbon) on a porch without a single plan for the day. 

They say wisdom comes with age.

I don’t know who “they” is (I’m often searching for an adult in the room to take care of things). But, I do hope to spend the next chapter in my book on loving people more; not forgetting who I am or where I came from; and, doing more of what genuinely makes my soul happy with family and friends. 

Here’s to 33!

On Sunday while at Father’s Day Lunch, I overheard my dad talking to my sister about a project my niece was working on. He said, “Tell her Pops said to suck it up and just do it. The sooner it’s done – the sooner it’s over… and then that will be it.”

It made me laugh out loud for several reasons.

1. I flashed back to every scrape, bruise, dread for doing something and hurt feeling I had as a child.
2. The concept of “sucking it up” and just doing “it” is so simple, but so stinking hard sometimes.
3. There’s not a single thing I’ve been faced with more in the past six months than having to do hard things, “sucking it up” and pushing through them.

Doing hard things implies that some encounters/feelings/moments in life are just going to be hard – regardless of the variables; however, it shouldn’t play a role in doing or not doing. Sometimes we just have to close our eyes, grit our teeth and power through whatever the “it” is.

To quote my favorite Johnnyswim song, “The only way over is through.”

If there were ever a mantra that was instilled in me at an early age – it’s this one. Even though it’s more apparent in my life now, it’s not new. It was repeatedly taught to me by my parents. My dad’s advice to my sister/niece wasn’t any different than the advice I got throughout my own childhood.

When I was knocked down on the soccer field as a kid, Dad could be heard from the sidelines saying, “Rub a little dirt in it and keep going. Keep moving. Let’s go.”

We also had similar conversations when a test was too hard, or worse when a friendship or relationship failed.

I wasn’t all that excited to hear that at the moment (rubbing dirt in scrapes and scratches burns, by the way). But looking back, it worked. And now, today, I still hear that voice in my head when I’m up against what feels like the world or you know – when I want to cry.

Even into adulthood, my life has been marked with all the “suck it up and keep going” moments. And over and over, I’ve learned in a multitude of ways that some things are going to be hard – they are going to hurt emotionally and physically – but the world will. not. stop.

Of course, the immediate satisfaction that comes from finally making it to the other side or overcoming an obstacle is the “hell yeah!” moment that many of us strive for. But lately, this isn’t where I’m hanging my hat.

Somewhere along the way, I have found that the lessons I’m learning when I do the hard things outweigh the “hell yeah” (although, I still yell it exuberantly because that just feels good).

My experiences of late have proven that when I sit down and reflect on how I conquered certain obstacles (physical and mental), I’m face to face with moments that contribute to being a better doer, a better leader — a better human.

MURPH is a hard thing.

When I set a goal to complete MURPH – a Crossfit Hero Workout (1-mile run, 100 pull-ups, 200 push-ups, 300 squats and another 1-mile run) – in a 14# vest by May, I knew two things to be very true:

1. It would be hard.
2. It would push the limits of my physical capabilities.

I’ve mentioned before, but if you’re new around these parts – I like a good goal. I like to quantify effort and measure results. Crafting plans and creating timelines is almost as exciting to me as achieving the goal itself. [If it’s at this point where you realize I’m a total nerd, no worries. You’ll get used to it soon enough.]

I have learned from prior years that I can’t just wake up and “do” MURPH – even scaled. Some can (high five to you beasts out there). And while I may be the neighborhood nerd that can help you write a 4-point plan to achieve your own goals, help you with your technological issues or plan an event from top to bottom – I am not a superhuman in the gym.

I was going to need more work than the average Joe. And by more, I mean a lot.

Lucky for me, I have a coach that often pushes me to set my sights on doing big things, to set the bar to make sure it’s attainable and then helps with a game plan to get me there. I also have a support system around me that encourages me to go after what I want. So I went after it, and the lessons I learned over the course of training have been way more valuable than doing the actual workout.

So, here I am… sharing the top three things I learned while doing one of the most mentally and physically taxing workouts I’ve ever completed.

1. The byproduct is often greater than the goal itself.

When I began training in January, I could not do a full military push-up repetitiously. I could knock out a few, but it wasn’t anything to write home about. Often, they made me so mad that I just stopped altogether (productive, right?).

Quick background of a jankety shoulder.

I’ve dislocated my shoulder four times since Labor Day of 2014. Once in a kayaking accident, the other three times in the gym doing normal things like… sit ups, reaching for a bar and reracking my barbell.

The first two times, I bounced back into push-ups like they were my favorite movement to do. But after the third time, I quit working on them. Starting over, what felt like constantly at the time, was a pain in the ass. And what initially started as a blatant disregard for making them better transformed into fear and doubt. “I can’t do military push-ups.”

Internal dialogue is my biggest enemy, and I knew this would be my weakest link for MURPH. And in true fashion, it almost broke me during those first few months of training. But, I stuck with it. I committed to knocking out several each day – 50-75 on high volume training days, 100 on low volume days.

At first, it was three or so at a time – then five… and in a short time frame, I was able to knock out 10 in a row.

In the gym, we often talk about the art of consistency versus the art of intensity. One will always outweigh the other, and nothing proved that more than through training for MURPH.

It was my job to show up and put in the work. While I did both for the opportunity to check off a goal, that goal is behind me. What I pulled from a consistent approach to training continues to move alongside me each day when I walk into our gym. And! The bigger takeaway is that doing hard things can produce results I can use in my daily life – overflowing into my work, my relationships and more.

2. Regardless of training, there will always be something out of my control.

From my last post about introversion, you might gather that I don’t love a crowded gym.

When MURPH day arrived, I agreed to meet a friend early so we could get started 15-20 minutes before typical class time. But, when I walked into the gym – there were SO. MANY. PEOPLE. I was overstimulated by noise, people and the thoughts in my own head.

It took several minutes before I could calm my brain down. I had to get to a place, mentally, where I understood that a crowded gym is an environmental factor and that it has no control over the training I had completed in preparation.

While I could not control the crowd any more than I can control the weather – I could control my attitude and my effort.

I encounter people, situations and moments every single day where I can’t control certain factors. But, me… I always control that. I’ve still got miles of work to do to control the looks my face can produce as an immediate response, but that’s another post for another day.

3. Having a “why” that’s stronger than the “what” provides for a foundation of purpose that is unrivaled.

Shortly after planning to complete this workout in a vest, I opted to tie my “why” to a cause I’m very passionate about – law enforcement + education.

Last year, I established the Blue Line Legacy Fund to help law enforcement officers, their spouses or dependents of to achieve their educational goals. To help with funding, I created an online fundraising campaign to go along with this workout.

For every $10 raised, I wore an officer’s name on my vest. With a community of people I’m so proud to be a part of, we raised right at $1,500 for the scholarship fund and I wore more than 40 officers’ names (both fallen, active and retired) in honor of the risks they take.

I said it then and I’ll say it again – NOT A SINGLE PERSON will care that I did this workout in the future. But, if one more person had a better understanding of the risks our officers take or if one more officer/family member is able to achieve an academic goal without a financial burden – it means more.

MURPH was the what, but the why behind it became personal and impactful at a different level. When I didn’t feel like training or when I wanted to quit, I put on the vest and I trained. Some days it was the very last thing I wanted to do, but not doing it wasn’t an option. My “why” meant sucking it up and doing hard things.  

Reality is full of a lot of hard things.

Honest moment: MURPH hurts. Assisted, modified, scaled, non-scaled, with a vest, without a vest – it’s hard any way you slice it.

At round six of 20, I hit that point (all too early) where I wanted to throw up. But at every corner of doubt and every “let’s quit” moment, I found myself digging deep to hear the positive voice in my head that kept breaking each movement down – step by step – reminding me that this whole thing was bigger than me.

MURPH isn’t designed to be easy. It was meant to be a challenge and its purpose was deeply rooted in maintaining a baseline of physical fitness while in a battlefield.

When we do hard things and we embrace the suck that comes with it, we prepare ourselves for so much more – whether it’s for the purpose of completing a goal, handling a tough work environment, navigating relationships or something equally as complex.

MURPH was hard. Some things just are. The question is whether we rise to the challenge, sucking it up when it’s hardest and making it to the other side with a bucket of lessons learned from the experience.

I have so much to say.

But, sometimes I don’t. And… by sometimes, I mean a large percentage of the time.

Often, it depends on the scope of the week – how many people I’ve interacted with, how much energy I’ve expelled and if the topic at hand warrants any feedback from me at all.

But, the very worst is when I have so much to say, but I cannot physically form the words.

This doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but if it’s a really busy work week or if I have interacted with large groups of people for more than a few days in a row – I turn inward. And, it’s SO hard to keep it from happening once that snowball is down the hill.

I’m in this place this week.

Monday and Tuesday were long work days filled with what seemed like 23,593 things. I collapsed on my couch as soon as I walked through the door Tuesday night, and I knew it was going to be hard to get through the rest of the week. That’s kind of a tough realization when it’s only Tuesday.

Wednesday came with its own litany of issues and here I am on a Thursday – just waiting for a glimpse of Friday to appear. I don’t find myself here as often as I used to, but when it happens – I damn near shut down completely.

Conversations are attempted, but they are often met with blank stares and some nodding that I can only hope gesture the right thing. Of course, when it doesn’t – I get really in my feelings because adding guilt for being low on energy to actually being low on energy makes PERFECT SENSE.

Growing pains.

This kind of stuff happened ALL OF THE TIME when I was in high school. But, I didn’t realize “it” had a name until college.

I never thought I was broken, I just thought I was different. I didn’t have the same boundary-pushing, eagerness to be the life of the party or to be around large crowds of people.

It was nothing for me to spend a Friday night walking around a bookstore for what seemed like hours, only to pick up dinner and head back to my room to settle in for the night.

I wasn’t depressed or shy (I’ve never been one to not say what I think if it’s warranted), I just had a hard time being around people after too much interaction in the days before.

In college, that meant classroom time and extra-curricular activities. When you live on campus, you’re surrounded by people always. My weekends spent alone were the result of all of that interactivity throughout the week.

Somewhere between my freshman and sophomore year, I took an introvert/extrovert assessment. It came with a lot of language to read and I was enamored that there were words and reasonings that described me to a T.

I was very clearly, without a shadow of a doubt, an introvert.

The path forward.

It wasn’t a lightbulb moment or anything, but it did give me a benchmark to use as guidance. And as I continued my way through school with a deeper understanding for how I gained and used my social energy, social situations weren’t as hard and I didn’t feel [as] guilty for being alone when I needed to.

But more than that, it allowed me a more introspective opportunity to learn how to work with others who are and aren’t like me.

Truth be told – I feel like I’ve adapted, somewhat well, to a very extroverted career path with a very introverted approach. I also seem to frequently be adopted by extroverts, and often I’m met with:  “There’s no way you are an introvert.”

Therein lies the irony… This is a perfect example of a moment when I have so much to say about a topic I’ve come to be decently educated about, but I won’t.

The reality is that my internal dialogue is going 100 miles a minute about how you probably don’t care about all of the research and studies – or the characteristics of what an “introvert” really is. I will go back and forth over whether this conversation requires the energy needed to convince, educate or defend.

This has nothing to do with the person asking the question, and everything to do with how I have to be protective over how I spend energy.

I am required to use words and visual imagery to be successful in my job. It takes a lot of mental and physical energy. So, this dilemma of energy depletion can completely wreck my world…. If I let it.

So, I cage a lot of it. Seems like the responsible approach, right?

I pick my battles and I push through the harder parts. And during weeks like this week, I fake it until I make it.

What you don’t see is how I crash as soon as I walk through the door or how I will sit in my car in my driveway – in the dark. Because for even just 10 minutes or however long it takes, I can just be still.

Regardless of how well I toe that line, some weeks come out swinging before I can stand up and Friday is a perfect picture of a sloth crossing a finish line.  

Improvising, just to adapt and overcome.

Over the years, I’ve had to learn very hard lessons about what it really means for my “charm batteries” to be depleted and what I need to do to be recharged. But, it’s still not easy.

I struggle daily with being a professional communicator – who also wants to not communicate at all.

Case in point – this week.

Godspeed to the people that have interacted with me before 7 a.m. this week or who I saw in the grocery store but said nothing to.

However drained I end up being, professional and personal growth comes from learning what it means to do what is best for me.

Sometimes that means I forego my 5:30 a.m. wakeup call to be in the gym for an extra hour of sleep, and sometimes it means I sit on my couch and pretend I have zero adult responsibilities while watching hours of mindless television.

On Wednesday, I did the first; and this weekend, I plan to do the second.

I know, for me, that resting and recharging is what I need to not be a crappy human being who forever seems to not have enough coffee.

Because at the end of the day – I can’t go and do for others if I don’t do for myself.

And if there has ever been a bigger lesson for me to learn in my 30s, it’s been that one.

Eighteen months ago, I stopped writing about my everyday attempt at being a better adult. I made a job hop to city government; and instead, I focused on surviving the torpedo of information and task level that came each day.  Processing life through the written word took a back seat, and I’ve missed it.

If I know anything to be true, it’s that the growth of my ability to tell a story is dependent on a consistent approach to writing and the practice of using vivid action to describe how I tackle life. 

So, here we are. On the last day of 2018, I’m launching a new corner of the Internet where my everyday stories, thoughts, ideas and more will find their home. 

Before we really get started though, I want to give you a rundown on what you will what you won’t find here. 

What will live inside these pages:

• A very real and honest approach to my life as an introverted communicator.
• This includes how I subdue the busy of my day job with friends/family, food, fitness and copious amounts of coffee (and a splash or five of bourbon).

What will not live inside these pages:

• The inside scoop of my job. If you are here for commentary on the inner workings of city government, you will be disappointed. As exciting as it is, this space will serve as a place for me to freely write about all the other things I don’t get to write about daily.

From my latest tale in not being able to adult all that well to the neverending journey of being a healthier version of myself, you’ll find stories that might make you laugh, cry or maybe even both. Who knows? The good thing is that coffee will always be involved, and! If it’s the right time of day, so will bourbon. 

Thanks in advance for going on this journey with me. We’ll see where it takes us.